The Wild Ba’Neesh Chapter Ten ©2019 Fay Thompson All Rights Reserved

Mick played class after class as the evening deepened. First in disbelief, then in anger, then it a sort of continuous outrage. A five-year-old stranger was given opportunities he was never offered. After the third of these prep classes, that’s what he called them. He glared at Elias. It was this boy, not some random stranger whose classes he was snooping into. This exact man had once been the boy in these classes. The class he paused on was called Recognizing Vrill. The boy was in a room of similar-aged boys and Mick had already learned that in this school, the classrooms were physically real and surveilled. At the end of each class the footage of the actual class was sent to the student’s slate. Every facial expression, every twitch, every miscreant behavior was captured. It was beyond shocking.

Mick had seldom been inside an actual classroom as they weren’t cost effective. Every residence had a virtual box as they called it. The students sat in their box and the box was collected into a classroom setting. It was like the walls of the box became transparent but the other students, like Mick, while looking real, they were holographic projections of each other. You couldn’t actually touch another kid and the teachers couldn’t touch anyone. It was remote. That was why there were so many organized play groups, so kids could meet each other in non-stressful, non-school settings to play in real life. All neighborhoods, residential blocks, residential towers and residential areas had a host of play groups and activities, well supervised. While his school experience was fully monitored too Mick had never seen his own childish behavior. Maybe his parents had received critical parts through their service, maybe his doctors, but Mick wasn’t troubled by a daily review of his behavior. Somehow this Citadel was far more intrusive than the box. And, he knew that none of the students he saw on the footage had parents nearby, they were alone. They talked about dorms, not about families. Were all Soek abandoned? If so, why had he been adopted out and these Order-born boys were not?

“You can move a ball on a grooved board.” Mick parroted the lesson of that long-ago day’s class. “Show me.” He said to Elias.

Elias didn’t want to show him but he could feel the presence more clearly now. Either she was getting stronger or his sensitivity to her presence was adapting. He thought the second more likely than the first.

He had eaten but not cleaned up his food bowl and spoon. He pointed and the spoon moved away from his finger. It didn’t fly. It just moved an inch or two and stopped.

Mick found a second spoon in the food cabinet and he placed it on his table and pointed like Elias had. The spoon sat there. Mick’s fury bubbled. “It’s a trick. You are doing a trick.” He said, his tone elevated.

“Yes.” Elias nodded. “It is a trick. You have to know that Vrill is moving from your nervous system through the tip of your finger to push against the mass of the spoon. You don’t believe. Seeing isn’t enough. You are too old. Why do you think they teach us at five? It’s because our thinking is malleable, unformed. Yours is rigid with erroneous physical rules.”

It wasn’t what Mick wanted to hear. “You mean I can’t learn?” Mick’s tone lowered. “You think I’m stupid, like she says. A stupid Soek.”

“You have no arcana intelligence.” Elias kept his tone even. “You have been taught such things don’t exist and if they don’t exist, you cannot move the spoon, your mind blocks you. I know they exist, I can feel my Vrill, I can sometimes see my Vrill, I can move the spoon.” It was a straightforward analysis. And, slightly mean. Elias knew he was pushing the boy. What would he have thought had he been raised outside the Order?

“Teach me.” Mick demanded.

“No.” Elias answered. What could the boy do, shoot him? He watched the outrage flickering across the boy’s face. He pitied him. The boy was disabled, damaged, crippled by the overlay of human thinking and programming.

Mick jerked back, his mind churning, seeking some avenue to punish the smugness on Elias’ face. Then he watched his spoon take flight, not move an inch or two. He glanced at Elias and saw the stiffness of his face and body. It wasn’t him. Kiena. The spoon spun in mid-air then darted toward Elias like a thrown knife and even as Elias raised his hands in hasty defense, it halted, turned and raced toward Mick.

Mick didn’t raise his hands. He had seen fear in Elias, fear of the unknown. In that fear he had seen himself. He couldn’t control what he didn’t know but he could control how he reacted to what he didn’t know. He wouldn’t give Kiena the satisfaction of seeing him cower. So the spoon hit him in the nose and he yelped in reaction. But, then he laughed even as he wrinkled his face at the radiating sensations. He would have a bruise. It wasn’t so bad. No reason to cower from a flying spoon.

Elias flinched. He understood the silent exchange and the fact that arcana intelligent or not, he had cowered before the spoon.

“I can see her Vrill.” Mick said into the quiet. “I know she can hit me with it. Two truths. I’ll damn well catch up and you will help me, or not.” There was threat there. Elias scored the boy with yet another hit. Well played.

“Why does the spoon move?” Mick asked as he picked up his spoon and contemplated his bruised nose. She hadn’t made a sound, simply demonstrated that she could throw spoons, not move them an inch on a table. It argued with something in Mick’s mind. It had to do with mass. Did Elias perceive the spoon to have too much weight or mass to move the way she used it? He could see the questions in the older Soek’s eyes. So, they weren’t that different then. Unequally stupid.

“I don’t know.” Elias admitted, confused by his own lack of clear understanding. In class, the objective wasn’t to understand how, but to cause the action. “I have to focus really hard to push something bigger than a hollow ball.”

“Why?”

Elias shifted, unhappy to be on the spot. He wasn’t a damn Master teacher of Vrill science or theory. It wasn’t fair. He could move the spoon. He could demonstrate competence. That was the benchmark. His mind flitted to Mael Strom, this kid reminded him a bit of Mael, asking impossible questions that no one needed or wanted to know. That comparison sobered him. He was the only adult Soek here. It was a forced teaching position. The alternative didn’t beg consideration. Mick couldn’t be like Mael, Dark Gods, no one was really like Mael Strom.

Mick watched the expressions on Elias’ face. His turn. He could read anxiety, tension and even some fear. But, more importantly, he could tell Elias was thinking about something he didn’t like.

“A hollow ball is light. They use them because even slight amounts of energy will start them moving. I was showing off with the spoon.” Elias answered.

Mick could understand that. He questioned why he wasn’t as mad at Elias. Showing off, a vulnerability. Was the spoon the older Soek’s maximum? Somehow, he didn’t think the flying spoon was Kiena’s maximum.

“Isn’t weight something of a human illusion?” Mick asked carefully. “I mean, you drop something heavy or light and both hit the floor at the same time, so their weight is not critical to their speed of fall.”

Elias swallowed hard. He was suddenly feeling trapped inside the floater. It was almost like he could hear the entity thinking. How did apparitions think without actual brains? His mind flitted to the Citadel’s Chamber of the Beloved, the many voices chanting. He wanted to crawl out of his skin. They all thought without brains, verbalized without mouths or throats or air. Why have a brain if you could think without one? Perisee’s voice came to life in his memory, “Fur sacks are for fun.”

Kiena burst out laughing, his thoughts as clear as spoken words.

Mick jumped. Elias glared.

“What was that about?” Mick turned to his right where she hovered, like an invisible hologram, no mass.

“Thoughtless brains.” Kiena said, clarifying nothing for the confused Mick.

Elias groaned, his head dropping to be cupped in his hands. She was able to hear his thoughts. Terrible news.

“Tell me,” Mick yelled, much louder than earlier. “It is mean to be outside some joke.”

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Elias gathered himself. It wasn’t his job not to be mean but he was trying to build trust, remember. And, it wasn’t going all that well either. He looked up. “I was wondering how she could think without a brain.” He said.

Mick stilled. “And, she didn’t cream you?” He finally said, his tone soft even though both of them knew she was right there. It was as if her amusement was radiating. They were her fools, her entertainment.

“Not yet.” Elias answered. “Listen, I never was that great at Vrill Theory. I get all caught up in manifest paradoxes, thinking traps. It was why I voced out into Tech Sec to complete my upper studies.”

“Vrill Theory?” Mick asked.

“Yeah. Why the rock and the feather hit the ground at the same time kind of things.”

“Pushing Vrill means I have to feel it and know it is leaving my finger?” Mick switched subjects. He sat the spoon on the table. “And, you think it is too heavy to move when Kiena obviously finds that funny. So weight must not matter, you must be wrong. I saw you move the spoon but did I really? I saw the spoon in the air or did I? My eyeballs are slow. Was your Vrill pushing on the spoon’s physical mass or is it a perception trick? Physics says that all objects are mostly empty space that we can’t see because our eyeballs are inferior. Am I the observer and the Vrill is transferring the construct I perceive as a spoon from one location to another. I see movement but is space simply adjusting to the Vrill?”

Elias groaned, this kid did sound like Mael, when he bothered to speak out loud about some problem.

“Who is this Mael Strom?” Kiena’s voice shocked them again.

Mick knew the question wasn’t for him as he’d never heard the name before. He looked over at Elias’ twitching upper lip. A tell. An uncontrollable signal of another player’s stress. Useful.

“He’s the Turtle.” Elias answered cringing. He had a terrible feeling that telling her about Mael was a really bad idea.

“A Turtle?” Kiena explored the names. Two names. Both powerful and descriptive. Who was this Turtle that was also the storm?

“We grew up together. He got a Glucene hemisphere stuck on his head when he was like twelve or something and it grew into his skull. It looks like a turtle shell.” Elias edited the story as hard as he possibly could.

“Glucene?” Mick asked. “How did he get a plastic toy stuck to his skull?”

Elias shifted. “It’s complicated.” He answered, wishing he could swallow his own head and end his growing misery, now.

“How is Mick like Mael Strom, The Turtle?” Kiena continued.

Mick’s eyes widened.

Elias closed his eyes, wishing his brain would shut up so she wouldn’t hear him, wouldn’t pry. He took a deep breath.

“Mael would say that no intersection is random or chaotic, that Mick is with you because of non-random connections currently not visible because we are not observant. And then, Mick is asking questions that are all crooked and bent, that’s like Mael does. He is on some path no one else can even see. This kid is too old to learn source work. He shouldn’t be reading my class slates. It’s all wrong.”

The room ran to silence. Mick was getting the feeling that somewhere in Elias’ poorly grouped sentences there was a back-handed compliment to him in there. About what, he had no idea. So he had asked about basic physics in relation to this Vrill energy movement thing. Wasn’t energy a core discipline in physics? Every kid knew that from Gen Ed. Or maybe, the Citadel ran thin on Gen Ed?

“No intersection is random.” Kiena repeated aloud. “And Mick asks, is the spoons movement an observer error.”

“I hate you.” Elias rubbed at his face. “I don’t know why the damn spoon moves. I know I imagine my Vrill like a narrow beam of light coming out the end of my finger and I want the spoon to be in a different spot. What happens in between I have no idea. Okay?”

“Is the Vrill in the intent or in your finger?” Mick made things worse.

“It’s… I don’t know. It’s maybe both? She moved it without a finger so maybe the finger isn’t necessary. Maybe the Vrill interacts with your perception thing. God this is making my brains hurt. Both of you shut up. Play the damn class footage. Maybe I missed stuff in that class. I don’t remember anything about an observer except Master Frawn, he stared at me enough and I picked my nose a lot in that class.” Elias was back to holding his head and wishing he could go out in the dark without a torch. Alone. No more questions.

Although Mick found Elias’ comments rather funny, he didn’t make the mistake of letting down his guard, if anything, the suggested breaking down of the other man increased Mick’s inner tension. If he were Elias, he might play out such a theatrical scene. He could feel how very much Elias didn’t want him poking in his class studies. And, who was this Turtle person? A plastic hat? It wasn’t exactly a lie but…at about that moment he realized he was rolling the finger bone in his fingers, through his shirt. The more he played with it, the more he sensed Elias shifting from passive to active mode.

He looked over at Kiena who was somehow appearing more like a rimmed figure. He’d never been much of a believer in being able to see the radiant energy of a person, their aura, but he was seeing something. What he couldn’t tell was whether she was manifesting or if his energy sight ability was improving. He dropped his right hand down, groping around for the stunner. Somehow in the activity with the spoon the weapon had drifted away from his leg. He didn’t quite dare look down to find it. It was like the air changed, tension become aerosol. He dove to one side as Elias arrived in a dive, knocking the slate to the floor and slamming into Mick.

Mick waited for Kiena to act as Elias reached past him toward the weapon. That was a mistake. One thing Mick was sure of was that he didn’t want to be stunned, to wake up tied up. It was a new thought that exploded through his mind. He really didn’t want to be stunned. He shoved the heavier Soek upward, just enough to offset Elias’ balance and return his attention to Mick rather than the weapon. Mick did what every gamer did in close combat. He rolled. In his case it was under the now broken table to squirm out into the aisle area closer to the center of the floater. He watched Elias twist to follow him down, so he rolled again and tried to find his feet only to find Elias on top of him trying to bash his head into the floor.

“Sneagly bastard!” He yelled out gaming profanity. It was habit.

“Miserable finkwaddle.” Elias yelled back. They rolled together, Elias with the advantage.

Mick realized the stuff getting in his right eye was blood, his blood. He jerked his knee up to the sweet spot on all men and heard Elias woomph just enough for Mick to squirm away, searching for anything to improve his disadvantage. What was he thinking to be going hand-to-hand with a trained spy?

Elias grabbed Mick by the hair and rammed his face into the floor, hearing a crunch and squeal and then he was floating above Mick, connected only by his hand in Mick’s hair. He yelled, flailing his legs trying to get traction but touching only empty air.

Mick clawed up at Elias’ hand, pulling his own hair out to escape Elias’ grip. He wriggled free and twisted to face his tormentor. He pushed himself to his feet and he wanted so much to kick Elias in the head, but she had him. To kick now would make him a coward. He screamed his outrage. His nose hurt awful, there was blood everywhere and all the escalating thrust inside of his body made him want to release it. He howled, mopping at his face with his t-shirt and then holding it over his nose to stop the blood.

He should get the damn weapon. Instead he sat down on one of the empty seats and watched his arms and legs jerking and spasming. Elias dropped face down to the floor with a thump.

Mick smeared at his face. He wanted water and yet he didn’t. It was the first time in his life he’d ever been in a real one-on-one with another person. He couldn’t wrap his brain around it fully. It was like he had been thrown through a wall inside his head. He lifted his bloody right hand. It was jerking in spasms. Something trying to get out of him, that’s what it felt like. He was constipated. He started to laugh as the image of energy poop shitting out of his nerves filled his thoughts. It was stupid. It hurt. He hurt. He felt drunk with it. He no longer wanted to kick Elias or really to yell out. He kept laughing.

Elias was sitting up trying to reconcile being pulled off the boy with Vrill. The kid must be right. Mass must not be a factor. He stared at the boy’s clearly broken nose. He’d done that. There was blood everywhere and the boy was laughing, not the I’m fucked kind of laugh, but more the kind of laugh he’d seen in street brawls. Mick was punch drunk, or something like it. He looked over at the weapon within reach on the floor. He had zero doubt that Kiena would not let him shoot Mick. Beat him up, obviously, really hurt him, no. How had he forgotten how much Ba’Neesh loved physical combat? He’d been played.

Mick finally managed to stagger over to the med cabinet and pull out some wipes. Elias got up and helped him. He washed Mick’s face and told him to brace himself. Mick just laughed again. “You asshole.” He said to Elias, “You broke my fucking nose, for real. This game hurts. Why do I like it?”

Elias popped the boy’s nose back into alignment and was rewarded with a scream, followed by a hiccup and then a giggle.

“It’s a rush.” Elias answered. “Vrill rush. She pulled me off you like I was a tissue. Your god damned answer, Mick. Mass doesn’t matter.” They both laughed together.

“I’m constipated.” Mick answered, holding up his jerking right arm. “Dominant hand. It’s trying to shit energy.” He bent over laughing too hard.

Elias shook his head. “You don’t shit energy.” He said. But, it was funny and Mick’s extremities were all twitching and jerking.

Mick pulled off his bloody shirt and shoved it in the laundry. “You know blood doesn’t come out of clothing all that well.” He commented.

Elias had grown silent. There, dangling around the boy’s neck was a bone. It was covered in blood from transfer.

Mick turned around to see the shock in Elias’ face. He looked down to what Elias was fixated on. “What? You ain’t never seen a corpse bone on a string before?” He asked, giggles taking him again. “I am wearing a corpse.” Mick promptly sat down and reached lower to pick up the slate, admiring that all of the violence hadn’t damaged it or even turned it off. “Next class section.” He said aloud.

“You are wearing Beloved?” Elias finally choked the words out.

“Beloved. If you mean Kiena’s right index finger bone with a hole poked in it by my pocket knife, on a string I took from that cabinet. Then yes. I am wearing a…what did you say? A Beloved? What the hell is a Beloved? This is the rotting corpse bone of an almost terrifying monster apparition.” He looked over to where Kiena drifted like an invisible balloon. “She doesn’t have any mass I think. We have to talk about that mass thing again. But, this time don’t break my nose. It hurts.”

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